


that's what parents are for

by SailorChibi



Series: spn kink meme fills [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ageplay, Bathing, Cuddling, Daddy!Cas, Dean just doesn't know when something is good for him, Diapers, Emotional Comfort, Gen, Infantilism, Non-Sexual Ageplay, Sick Dean Winchester, Sick Sam Winchester, adults acting like children, and so does Cas, baby!dean - Freeform, bottle, consensual ageplay, for emotional healing, fortunately sam does, kid!Sam, no hurt just comfort, non sexual infantilism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-25
Packaged: 2018-02-11 09:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2063346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel understands the Winchesters better than anyone; he knows what Sam needs and he knows what Dean needs, and he's stubborn enough to keep coaxing and caring until both of his little boys realize that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a prompt on the kinkmeme. As soon as I saw it was nonsexual ageplay, I was sold. Consider it my foray into a consensual ageplay relationship between Dean and Cas (and in this case, Sam) which I would like to explore in depth in another fic later on.

It's been a hell of a long month and Dean is fucking exhausted. Sheer willpower keeps his foot pressed down on the gas pedal and his hands on the wheel, though thank god the road is empty aside from them because he's been watching the side of the road for a sign indicating a motel a lot more than the actual road itself. When finally, about two hours after he officially reached his limit, he sees a half lit sign, he's so relieved he could cry.

The motel doesn't look like it's in very good condition, but Dean doesn't care. And when he reaches across the seat and punches Sam in the shoulder to wake him up, the circles under Sam's eyes speak volumes about how little he cares either. Dean slumps out of the car and somehow finds the strength to walk, not crawl, into the office.

Sometimes motels like this staff stupid little teens, and it takes a lot of Dean's patience on a good day to deal with them. Fortunately, the clerk here is actually somewhat intelligent - or maybe she just has good self preservation instinct, who knows. She takes his I.D. and his credit card and taps something into her computer, then makes a soft sound of surprise.

"Oh. Mr. Smith, I didn't realize that was you. Your room is ready for you."

Dean blinks at her slowly. He thinks that something vague and super intelligent like "Bluh?" comes out of his mouth.

The clerk smiles patiently. "Your friend already checked you in. He said you would be by to pick up your key. Here you go; you're in room 20. It's the one on the end. Have a good night."

He should probably ask her more questions. This could be a trap. But the key is there on the desk in front of him and a key means a bed, and in the end Dean just takes it and leaves. Sam already has their duffel bags and is waiting for him, leaning back against the car. He looks about as awesome as Dean feels.

His duffel feels like it weighs a ton more than it should when Dean picks it up. He beckons to Sam and shuffles across the parking lot to their room. The key works with no problem and Dean pushes the door open.

"Hello Dean, Sam," Castiel says.

"Hi Cas," Dean says, somehow completely unsurprised to see their angel standing in the middle of the room. No one else would've gone through the trouble of checking them in, or even known what I.D. he was gonna pull out to get a room. He throws his duffel down and sinks into the nearest chair, not even sure if he possesses the strength to get to the bed. It's very far away.

"You hear about a case?" Sam shuts the door and locks it, then kneels down to get out the salt.

"No. I'm here because you need to rest."

Dean tenses up a little because they both know what that means when Castiel says it. Sam's reaction is a little different, a mingled combination of relief and gratitude that Dean both admires and resents. This is always so easy for him.

"Really?" Sam says.

"Yes, little one. You and your brother have been pushed to your limits and beyond. I can feel your soul crying out for hlp," Castiel says, just so matter-of-fact. He walks over to Sam and kneels in front of him, and Dean can just see the years falling off of his brother. Sam's hazel eyes are already wide and a little damp when Castiel brushes a few strands of his shaggy hair out of his face.

He then gently tugs the salt out of Sam's hands. "I will finish warding the room. I want you to go and take a shower. I have set everything out for you. If you need my help, just let me know."

"Okay," Sam says, but he hesitates. "What about Dee?"

Dean twitches.

"I will get your brother ready for bed. Go ahead, Sammy."

"Okay Daddy." And Christ, Sam - Sammy, now - even sounds younger. His voice is boyishly high as he gets up and wanders towards the bathroom, muffling a yawn with his hand.

Dean remains stiff and silent while Castiel spreads salt lines along the bottom of the door and all of the windowsills. He's careful about it, even though the chances of any supernatural creature coming around with an angel in the room is slim to none. When he's done with that, he gathers up their duffels and hides them in the closet. They won't need them; he always provides everything they need during these stolen moments.

Only then does he turn to Dean. "Are you hurt?"

Recalling the ease with which Sam stood up, Dean realizes that Castiel must have healed him during that brief contact. He shakes his head. Castiel looks unconvinced and approaches him, fingers outstretched. Somehow that gives Dean the energy boost he needs to scramble to his feet and away. He knows from experience that if Castiel gets his hands on him, he'll fold.

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Castiel says simply.

"Yes, I am."

"You don't need to fight me on this, Dean. I would never think less of you for needing an escape."

Dean sets his jaw, resisting the urge to cross his arms defensively. "It's fucked up. And I should know, considering how -"

"Do not finish that sentence." The command is low and stern, and Dean swallows and goes quiet. They've discussed this before and no doubt they'll talk about it again, just because Castiel is tenacious like that. He always gets pissed when Dean starts to put himself down, no matter how true it might be.

"It's weird," he amends, going back to his original point. "It's not what normal people do."

"When have you ever been concerned with what normal people do? That seems more like a worry for Sam, not you."

Dude has a point. Sam's the only one who ever wanted something normal. Dean was fine with living the life of the abnormal. But this - it grates on the edge of being _too much_. Sometimes he wonders what even possessed him to agree to it all in the first place. 

But Castiel - goddamn, but he just has a way of making the stupidest shit sound reasonable. Before he knew it Dean was agreeing to give it a shot, maybe because Castiel had told him, without going into details, that Sam was doing it too, and.... it wasn't too bad. He felt good afterwards. He was even okay, sorta, with Castiel watching over him and Sam together. Right up until it happened for the first time, and then it just got awkward and embarrassing and Dean really doesn't want to be here right now.

He takes a couple steps towards the door, thinking that he'll just crash in the Impala.

"Stop."

He stops automatically, wavering on the cusp, too attuned to that voice to disobey. Frustrated tears blur the room and he blinks rapidly. 

"Dean." His name comes out as a sigh and in a blink Castiel stands before him, hands cupping his face. Dean's eyes slide shut on a muffled, exhausted sob as he leans against the familiar trench coat. Castiel shushes him, one hand on Dean's head and the other wrapped around his waist to support him. A cool, tingling feeling flows through him, easing his aches and pains.

Pressing his face into Castiel's chest is easier than facing the world, particularly when the bathroom door swings open and Sammy bounds out. 

"I took my shower, Daddy."

"I can see that," Castiel says. "Good boy. Did you wash everywhere?"

"Yup."

"Even behind your ears?"

"I'm not a _baby_ ," Sammy says, full of all the indignity a seven year old can muster, and Dean cringes. Castiel's hand presses a little more firmly against the back of his head, keeping him in place.

"No, you're not. Forgive me. I take it you can be trusted to eat your supper while I give Dee a bath?"

"Can't I help?"

"Not tonight, Sammy. Eat your supper and then we'll pick out a movie to watch, okay?"

"I want to pick it out," Sammy says, which is basically as good as a yes. The chair scrapes the floor as he drags it out and sits down, but Dean doesn't get to see what he's going to have to eat. Castiel lifts him easily, bracing an arm under his butt, and carries him into the bathroom. He leaves the door open and sets Dean down on the floor so that he can run fresh water in the tub.

Dean curls in on himself, keeping his eyes squeezed shut, but doesn't fight when Castiel tenderly begins to strip him of his sweaty and filthy clothing. His cheeks heat with embarrassment as his boxers are pulled down, but it's an old feeling. That's the thing about angels: they really _don't_ care. The human body is pretty much a vessel to them, uninteresting and fairly boring. It's a lot more humiliating when Castiel picks him up and sets him down in the warm water.

"Just relax and let me take care of you." Castiel's voice is barely audible over the splash of the water as he lathers up some soap. Dean sits in paralyzed silence as a soft cloth rubs steadily over every inch of his skin, erasing bruises as well as dirt with the help of a little angel mojo. He thinks he should stop it, but at the same time he craves this.

Because every touch is impossibly tender, so filled with love it makes his throat hurt. This time he can't control the tears that start sliding down his face. Castiel shushes him as the water drains, wrapping him in a big fluffy towel and pulling him into his lap. "There is no shame in this, baby. I wish you could understand that. Your brother and I love you so much. We want you to be happy."

Happiness is a relative, fleeting term as far as Dean's concerned. It's knowing that Sam's safe. And he is right now, but Dean should be the one protecting him. He never would have let himself fall so far if he'd known that Sammy would be a bright-eyed, curious child of roughly seven years old. 

Castiel sighs, either sensing the direction Dean's thoughts have taken or perhaps reading them outright. He says, "I approached you and Sam separately for that reason. Forcing yourself into the mindset of a ten year old would not help you. Sammy enjoys being a big brother to you, and Sam likes having the opportunity to repay you for all the care you have given him over the years. You should not be ashamed of what you need.

"I am here. I love you both. I want to care for you as your daddy, if you will let me."

The sincerity is practically oozing out of Castiel's blue eyes, and Dean is so very tired. It goes against every instinct screaming through him when he nods, just once, almost trembling with fear even though this has happened a dozen times before.

"Shh, baby, it's okay." Castiel rubs him dry, not trying to stop him from crying, and spreads the towel out on the floor. He looks down at Dee with so much love. "I know you're tired. Let me get you dressed so that you can have supper, and then we'll watch that movie with Sammy. How does that sound?"

He keeps talking in that quiet, comforting voice as he slides a diaper under Dee's bottom and then fastens the straps shut. It's not really necessary, Dee is potty trained, but Castiel seems to think it helps and Dee doesn't want to argue anymore, not as long as Castiel also puts him in pajamas that hide it from Sammy. And he does, gently manipulating Dee's limbs into a pair of bright blue pajama pants and a t-shirt that looks brand new but is as soft as a worn one.

Sammy is already done with supper, and he looks up beaming when they return. He's full of pride as he points to the motel's television, the screen of which is frozen. "I picked one out and got it all ready for us, Daddy."

"Good job," Castiel praises, carrying Dee over to the bed. "What do you want to watch?"

" _The Land Before Time_."

"Ah, dinosaurs," Castiel says, smiling.

"They're so cool! Did you know that the word dinosaur means terrible lizard?"

"No, I didn't."

Sammy nods enthusiastically. "It's Greek. Do you know Greek, Daddy?"

"I know many languages," says Castiel. He perches on the edge of the bed, setting Dee on his lap and giving him a scrutinizing glance. Dee was already exhausted when they got to the motel. The last few hours of the drive feel more like a hazy dream. So after the additional emotional turmoil and the warm bath, he's more than ready to crash. His eyelids feel like heavy weights are attached.

"Could you teach me one?"

"If you want me to."

"That would be so cool. I want to learn Chinese. Or maybe Spanish. Greek would be really cool, too. What's the best language?"

"Each one is different, Sammy. I don't think that any one language can be considered the best."

Sammy considers this very seriously. "Then I think you should teach them all to me."

Only because Dee is cradled to close to Castiel does he hear the soft huff of laughter their daddy lets out. "If that's what you want, little one, then I would gladly oblige. But it's much too late to start a lesson like that tonight. Go brush your teeth and then put your movie on and get under the covers."

The bed shifts around as Sammy obeys. 

"Don't fall asleep, Dee. You haven't eaten in a long time."

Screw that, Dee's eyes are at half-mast and lowering steadily. He hears Castiel chuckle again and then something is being guided between his lips. It's kinda hard and rubbery. A very distant part of his mind nags at him, but he's way too far gone to listen. Something flows into his mouth, creamy and smooth, and he swallows automatically. 

The mattress sinks down as Sammy returns, and familiar music begins to play in the background. Castiel reclines against the headboard and Sammy curls up beside them, his head on Castiel's shoulder, already completely absorbed in the movie. Dee drinks until even swallowing is too much work, till he falls asleep in between his daddy and his big brother.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally wrote a second chapters. Oops.

Hunters always wake up fast and Sam is no exception. Particularly when there's a weird sound in the room that he can't place, a sound that definitely wasn't there when he fell asleep. But in this case, his body is working ahead of his mind and keeps him from panicking or trying to do something stupid with the knife that's supposed to be tucked underneath his pillow - already knowing that he's safe, the memories from last night wash over him in slow, sleepy tide.

He relaxes and indulges in a luxurious stretch, all 6'4 of him extended as far as he can go and his toes still don't touch the bottom. That's how he knows Castiel has mojo'ed the bed, not that he's surprised, and he rolls over with a smile already on his face. He's expecting to see his brother still sleeping beside him because that's how they went to bed, but Dean's gone.

"Dean?" Sam's alert then, sitting up, but again the panic recedes practically before it even really sets in. 

Castiel is sitting in a rocking chair, an old-fashioned, sturdy thing that looks like it's made from cherry wood. He's got Dean cradled in his arms just the way he would a baby, but somehow the both of them fit in that chair seamlessly. Dean's head is tucked underneath Castiel's chin and his eyes are shut; he's still dressed in the clothing from last night. It's a sweet scene that Sam kind of wants to take a picture of, just because he's afraid his brain won't remember it the way he really wants to.

It takes a little longer than it should for him to realize that Dean's face is a little pinker than usual, unnaturally flushed, and worry sets in. "Cas?"

"Good morning, Sam," Castiel says quietly, because he always knows whether it's Sam or Sammy better than Sam does sometimes. 

"What's wrong with De - with Dee?" And Sam catches himself at the last minute, substituting Dee's name for Dean, because there's no way that's not Dee. It's weird because Sam's never been grown up while Dean's in that headspace, but it's also right: he doesn't think _Dean_ would ever allow himself to sit like that with anyone, not even their angel, and especially not when Sam is in the room.

"It's a low grade fever, likely from exhaustion and strain. He has no injuries." Castiel's foot puts pressure on the floor, just a bit, and the chair starts to rock again with a croaky little creak. The sound Sam heard when he woke up.

"Oh," Sam says, maybe a little stupidly, and he can't help looking his brother over regardless even though he knows Castiel would not lie about something like that. "Can't you heal him?"

"I could, but it would be hard on his system. Besides, sometimes it is more beneficial for recuperation to happen the normal way, don't you think?"

Sam's confused for just a minute, right up until Castiel smoothes a hand through Dee's hair and Dee nuzzles into the feeling and smacks his lips. And then it hits him and he realizes Castiel is a freaking genius. Dean never takes care of himself when he's sick. He's all about pushing through until his body either heals or can't take it anymore because that's what John taught them. It's probably the first time Dean's ever been really cared for while he's sick since their mom died. 

"Yeah, I do." He's smiling so wide it hurts and it probably makes him look like a dumbass, but that's okay. Sam tucks his knees up to his chest and just watches Castiel rock his (baby) brother for a long time. 

It gives him time to notice all the little details. Like the messy hair that falls over closed eyes and the cartoon bunny on the front of the shirt Dee's wearing, or the way the shirt's tugged up just enough to reveal a hint of tummy. Just barely visible above the waistband of the pants is a puffy line of white, and Sam knows what the means in theory. Just not in practice.

"Cas?"

"Yes, Sam?"

"How old is Dee?"

There's a barely imperceptible pause, suggesting he's caught the angel off guard, before Castiel responds. "Roughly twenty months old."

Just under two years old, then. Sam tries not to think about why Dean slips so far, but the ugly thoughts loom below the surface of his mind. The memory of heaven, when they ended up searching for the road to the Garden, and watching Dean embrace their crying, frustrated mother after a fight with their father. He's never really forgotten that Dean's been cleaning up John's messes since he was about three years old and cognizant enough to be able to do so, but this really slams it home. 

His stomach hurts all of a sudden, and maybe he even makes some a noise because Dee's eyes twitch, nose wrinkling, and then flutter open. Even from across the room Sam can tell he's hazy and far away. Castiel's head tips down and he croons something soft in Enochian. Dee squirms, a full body wriggle of discomfort, and gives a little whine that Sam's never heard before. But apparently Castiel understands it perfectly, because he starts talking and it takes Sam a second to realize that the angel is speaking to him.

"I understand if you do not want to scene right now, but I must ask that you leave the room for a few minutes. Dean would not be comfortable with your presence as you are. It took me a long time to convince him to be okay with Sammy. He's not ready for you yet."

"Right," Sam says, a sneaking suspicion in the back of his head. He's pretty sure that this is the furthest Dean's ever slipped, just like he's pretty sure there's a reason for that diaper. He throws the covers back and gets up, wavering for only a second before he catches his balance. "I'm gonna go for a quick walk."

"Don't go far. You're still very close."

Sam ducks his head in acknowledgement, knowing Castiel's right, because he can feel his seven-year-old self like the line between them is made from dissolving sand, and driving the Impala when he slips would be a disaster. He figures the sweatpants and old t-shirt he's wearing are good enough for the public and shuffles towards the door, cramming his feet into his shoes as he goes. He doesn't look back as he steps outside, though it's not for lack of wanting to.

It's bright outside, early morning sun hitting him right in the eyes, and Sam grimaces as he looks around. They've certainly slept in worse places and it wasn't like they were in a position to complain last night, but he spares a thought to be grateful for angel mojo because the inside of that room wouldn't be half as nice without it. Castiel has standards about where his children spend the night, apparently.

Digging around in his pocket yields a handful of change, enough for a can of Coke. The solid thunk of the can hitting the bottom of the machine is weirdly comforting, and the cold is nice against his sweaty palms. He saunters over to the Impala and leans against the passenger side door as he takes slow, measured sips. It's a different kind of burn than the alcohol he's used to, sweet and sugar hard, but he savors it and deliberately doesn't think about what's going in the motel room.

Back when Castiel first approached him, Sam thought he was a little crazy - and that's saying something considering the things he and Dean have seen and done over the years. But the angel was frigging persistent, giving him some space to think and then laying it all out in a quiet, logical argument that Sam was hard-pressed to fight against. He suspects that, compared to his brother, Castiel wore him down embarrassingly quickly.

And even now he's not really sure why he regresses to the age of a seven-year-old. To his knowledge, there's nothing special about that age. It was just another year of moving around and Dad being gone and Dean doing his best in Dad's stead, although it was before Sam learned the truth about hunting. Sam smiles bitterly and crushes the empty can in his fist, choosing not to dwell on that.

To give Castiel a little more time with Dee, he drags his laptop out and checks their email. They're both too burned out at the moment to hunt but he can't resist scoping out the local newspaper for hints of anything that would require their attention. As it turns out, there's nothing. Weirdest thing is that a woman gave birth to four babies two nights ago.

He powers his computer down and tucks it back in the trunk, caught in the grey area between tired and restless as he wanders back to the room. The door opens easy under his hand, no keycard required. The first thing Sam sees is his baby brother, curled up in the middle of the bed. There's a pacifier tucked into his mouth and he's dressed in only a t-shirt and a diaper, and he's passed out solid. 

Sam can't resist approaching him, reaching out to skate a cautious finger across Dee's arm. Just to check. There's definitely more heat radiating off of him than Sam's comfortable with. 

"He will be fine, Sammy."

The name hits him like a punch to the gut and Sam curls over with hunched shoulders. A big hand splays across the middle of his back, and he spares a bizarre moment to wonder what Jimmy Novak must think of this if he's still in there. Chained to a comet is one thing, but the dude never signed up for this.

"Cas?" he says, like a question, uncertain and shaky.

"This is what happens when little boys don't take care of themselves," Castiel says quietly. "But that's why your daddy is here, so that you don't have to do it all by yourself. I'm here."

It's comfort and rest all wrapped up into one and Sam relaxes into the arm wrapped around his back, turning his head into Castiel's side. The angel's shed his trenchcoat and tie and even rolled up his shirt sleeves, and it might make him look a little more human but for the fact that Castiel could never be mistaken for anything but otherworldly.

He rests his forehead against a solid, if somewhat bony, hip, and after a moment fingers begin to run through his hair. He hums with sleepy contentment, because he's old enough to be treated like an adult but he doesn't mind if he gets treated like a little kid sometimes. "Can we bake something?"

"What would you like to make?"

"A pie."

A quiet chuckle. "A pie? And what would you do with a pie?"

"I'd share it with Dee."

"That's a very noble sentiment, Sammy. I will see what I can do. Perhaps I can find temporary lodgings that have a kitchen where you can experiment."

"Want that," Sammy agrees, yawning. "Daddy, can I color for a while?"

"You look more like you're ready for a nap."

"I'm not tired at all!" He straightens up indignantly, because it wasn't even that long ago that he woke up and naps are for babies. "Besides, I haven't even eaten breakfast yet."

"Your breakfast is waiting for you on the table."

Sammy's eyes light up, because angel breakfasts are the _best_ breakfasts. He squirms out of Daddy's hold and rushes over to the table. There's already a plate and a bowl laid out waiting for him. The plate has toast and an omelet filled with pieces of ham, red and green peppers, mushrooms and onions. The bowl is filled with chunks of bananas, pineapple, and mangos, and blueberries and raspberries. His tummy growls.

He greedily grabs for a wedge of mango and shoves it in his mouth with a happy little whimper. The sweet taste explodes across his tongue, as fresh as he's ever had, and the rest of the fruit is every bit as yummy. Even the omelet is awesome, a thousand times better than the crappy ones he usually has in diners.

"Slow down," Daddy says from where he's sitting beside Dee. 

"M'hungry," Sammy whines, shoving a bite of omelet into his mouth. He follows it up with some toast, which is whole wheat and soft with real butter. He washes the food down with great gulps of water, letting out a little burp when he's all done. 

"What do you say?"

"Thanks Daddy!"

"You're welcome." With a twitch of his hand, Daddy clears away the empty dishes. In their place is a brand new coloring book and some crayons. Sammy grins and opens the book eagerly. He knows it's kind of a little kid thing to do, but he likes coloring. He likes staying inside the lines and making the pictures come to life.

He selects a bright red crayon and starts to color in an astronaut's suit. He's vaguely aware of his daddy moving around the room sometimes, and once Dee wakes up fussing. Sammy does look up at that, concerned, because his help might be needed. He watches intently as Daddy sits back down on the bed and pulls Dee into his lap, feeding him a bottle. 

"Can I feed Dee sometime?" he asks impulsively.

Daddy does not look surprised by the request. "Maybe."

"Is that a yes?"

"It's a maybe."

Sammy pouts, pushing his lower lip out. "I wouldn't drop him."

"I know you wouldn't. You're a very good big brother."

It doesn't feel like it. 

"You are," Daddy says firmly. "I'm not saying no. It won't be today, or tomorrow. You will have to be patient, Sammy. Can you do that for me?"

Being patient doesn't seem like much fun, but Sammy knows how stubborn their daddy can be. Reluctantly, he nods. "Okay, Daddy."

His reward is a warm smile that makes him feel really good, and he keeps watching as Dee loses interest halfway through the bottle. Daddy doesn't try to make him finish it. He sets the bottle aside and lifts Dee to his shoulder, gently patting his back. Dee burps loudly and then makes a weird moaning sound, and Daddy whispers something in his ear that Sammy can't hear. He rocks Dee back and forth for a long time until Dee settles down again.

By then Sammy's bored, and he has a new problem. "Daddy, my tummy hurts."

Daddy stands up and comes right over to him, putting a palm to Sammy's cheek and then his forehead. His eyes glow briefly, and then he says, "I warned you not to eat so fast."

"I was hungry." He doubles over and grabs at his belly, whimpering. "It _hurts_. Please make it stop."

"Lay down beside your brother and I'll see what I can do."

He obeys, scuttling to the bed and stretching out beside Dee. Daddy sits on his side of the bed and, when Sammy's settled, pushes his t-shirt up and his pants down a little. He puts his hand on Sammy's belly and, with just a little bit of pressure, starts to rub in big circles. 

At first it hurts worse and Sammy whimpers again in discomfort, but Daddy shushes him and keeps rubbing. Slowly it starts to get a little better, the ache easing. Sammy can feel his eyes getting heavy and it feels like all of his muscles are sinking into the bed. He really doesn't want to take a nap, but his body's made the decision for him. He huffs in annoyance and sees Daddy smile, right before he leans down and kisses Sammy on the forehead.

"Sleep well, Sammy."

**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on [tumblr](http://tsuki-chibi.tumblr.com/)!


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